Mirror of the Shadow Walker
by Sim Master
Summary: Although he tries mightily, Garrett is shown once and for all that he cannot escape the links that connect him to his past. DONE
1. Chapter 1

Garrett strode quickly down the cobbled street. His head was down, and he walked close to the buildings, trying not to draw unwanted attention to himself. His mission was one of dire importance: getting something to eat. He had started out from his safehouse after discovering that the only things in his cupboard were an apple core and a rather large, rather hairy, rat.

Once he got to the marketplace, he looked around, remembering whom he got along relatively well with. He decided on Clive, a fat fruit vendor. If someone believed that gossiping was a woman's sport, Clive would prove them wrong. Garrett had never met anyone, female or otherwise, who talked so much. He dished out advice and gossip along with his apples, but he usually had some good information. He knew about a lot that happened in the city, and was more than happy to share it with anyone in hearing range. He could respect the privacy of others, though. Money bought that respect.

Clive saw Garrett approach. He managed to shoo away a beggar woman and turned his radiant sunflower grin on the thief. "What can I help you with today?" His voice was hoarse but full of energy.

"You don't sound so good. Feeling okay?" Small talk, of course. It wasn't as if he actually cared.

"Many things don't sound too good." Clive gave him a knowing smile.

Garrett knew that smile. "What?"

"Would you like enough food for you, or maybe one other as well?"

"What?"

"A good meal can work wonders," Clive said.

Garrett was getting impatient. "What are you talking about?"

Clive gave him a sidelong look.

Garrett reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bag. He tossed it to Clive. Clive caught it; it jingled in his hand.

"Ladies of the evening are numerous in the city." That was another thing about Clive: he might have a lot to say, but he took forever to get to the point. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Garrett shifted his weight. "Get to the point already."

"You aren't married." It was a statement, not a question.

"Irritated, yes, married, no."

Clive nodded. "So I thought."

"Do you have something to say or are you just rambling?"

"I see that you are a busy man. Very busy. The matter to which I refer is the imprisonment of your son."

***

It would take a lot to surprise Garrett, after Pagan deities, mechanical beasts, and various other monstrosities. So it was reasonable to assume that nothing short of a tear in the time-space continuum would give him cause to blink an eye.

Reasonable, but not correct.

Garrett did more than blink; he actually took a step back. Then he regained his composure. "Tell me more."

Clive smiled, relishing his role as storyteller. "Ah, the boy was caught trespassing on Lord Birmingham's grounds. The guards turned him over to the sheriff. He's in Shoalsgate right now."

"What makes you think he's my son?"

"He looks just like you! A little skinnier, perhaps . . ."

***

Skinnier, indeed. When Garrett had gotten to Shoalsgate, he had easily navigated his way to the holding cells. Finding the kid was as easy as pickpocketing a tourist. That was when he had a heart attack.

He had been expecting some physical resemblance, thanks to Clive's information, but this kid looked almost exactly like he did when he was younger, maybe 12. The most striking difference was the kid's weight. He was thinner than the carpet in Garrett's apartment. His cheeks and eyes were sunk into his skull, making him look like someone with one foot in the grave. He wore a coarse shirt and pants, and these hung on him so loosely that a length of rope had been pulled tight around his waist just to keep his pants up. His hair was dirty and disheveled, and quite long. When Garrett first saw him, the kid had been grasping one of the cell bars. His fingers were literally nothing but skin and bones. Even the rats in Garrett's part of town were fatter than him.

The kid's eyes were glazed over when Garrett opened the cell door, and for a moment, Garrett thought he was dead. Then the kid's bony leg moved slightly. Garrett put the kid on his back (the kid weighed less than his sword and quiver, so his movement wasn't hindered) and proceeded to leave.

The trip back to Garrett's new apartment was uneventful.

Perhaps "new" is too strong a word. It was new in the sense that Garrett had just moved in earlier that week, but it was not new in any others. The plaster was peeling off the walls, the thin carpet (thin, but thicker than that awful bony kid!) had worn through to the wood flooring underneath in some places, and half the windows stuck.

Garrett was planning on fixing those soon; it wouldn't do to be killed because his escape hatch was sticky.

Garrett set the kid down in one of the living room chairs, if you could call the threadbare, hideous affairs living room chairs. He took the chair opposite, heaved a sigh, and began to think.

The kid wasn't his. He knew that much. He knew Clive's cute term, "ladies of the evening," referring to prostitutes, but he hadn't . . . whose, then, was he? Garrett had no idea, but he hoped the real parents didn't expect him to play baby-sitter. The only reason (well, there were two reasons if you wanted to be picky) he had rescued the kid from Shoalsgate was because he wanted information. And, he admitted grudgingly to himself, he was curious how the kid could bear such a strong physical resemblance to himself.

Except he was so skinny! Garrett would be the first to admit that he didn't always get his three square meals a day, but this kid was half-dead!

No, he mulled, the best thing to do would be to find out what this kid's story is and get rid of him. Dump him on some kind old farmers who'd feed him beans and gravy and teach him how to feed the chickens. 

Then, he'd have to find another apartment. Couldn't have this kid (he could be a spy; it was unlikely, but Garrett hadn't stayed alive this long by broadcasting his home base to the world) telling persons where a certain master thief lived.

The kid began to stir. The angular shapes of his face were softened by the shadows from the fireplace, and the warm orange light removed some of the deathly pallor. He opened his eyes slowly. His head bobbed on his neck, threatening to fall and snap it at any moment.

The eyes, sunken but large, rested on the figure sitting across from him.

Garrett was sitting with his left side facing the fire. His mechanical eye was hidden in darkness. He didn't want to scare the kid to death (he was so close, it wouldn't take that much) unless it was called for.

The kid's lips moved, but no sound came out. The dry smacking of his lips was audible enough. Garrett got up and gave the kid a glass of water.

Garrett noticed he had been calling him simply "the kid," for want of calling him anything else. He didn't know the kid's name, and he sure wasn't about to start calling him Garrett Junior.

The water was lukewarm and not especially clean, but it was all he had and the kid didn't seem to notice, or care. The kid swallowed and nodded his head. "Thank you, sir."

Garrett started again, and he hoped it wasn't going to become a habit of his. The kid had called him "sir," and that was a foreign word to him. It sounded funny, hanging in the dusty air, like an overzealous guest who'd worn out its welcome.

The other thing that surprised him was the startling clarity of the kid's voice. It was good enough for a choir or that sort of thing. 

Must've been the water. Garrett's Super Potion, guaranteed to restore your voice, shave pounds off your waist, and years off your age!

Garrett sat back down.

The kid's eyes struggled to uncross and succeeded in focusing on Garrett. "Who are you, sir?"

"You first."

The kid shook his head, threatening to snap his neck again. "I don't rightly know, sir," he said in his melodic voice. "I've been living on the streets for as long as I can remember."

"Stop calling me 'sir.' It's getting on my nerves."

"If you told me your name, sir, I would call you that instead," the boy said in a sing-songy way.

"It's Garrett."

"Well, Mr. Garrett, I would like to take this opportunity to formally thank you for inviting me to your living quarters."

The kid was as flowery as books written in Ye Olde English. Pretty soon he'd be spouting Keeper prophecy.

"So what were you doing at Lord Birmingham's estate?"

"I was looking for a place to sleep, Mr. Garrett. As you know, the nights can be quite cold in the city."

Actually, Garrett found the nights pleasant, much better than the stifling heat of the day.

The kid coughed dryly. He drew in a long, rasping breath. "Excuse me, Mr. Garrett, but if it wouldn't overly trouble you, perhaps I could have another splash of water?"

Garrett got the pitcher and poured the kid another. As he handed it to him, he saw those fingers, long and bony, eagerly grasp the cup. He winced.

"Um, you want something to eat?" Foolish question.

The boy stopped drinking and looked up at Garrett, eyes shining. "That would be quite pleasurable, my kindest host! I need nothing so fancy as crumb cake or pudding, a simple bread product would suit my fancy more than adequately."

Yes, Garrett thought as he raided the pantry, getting rid of the kid was sounding better and better every minute.

He came back and gave the kid a cucumber, carrot, and loaf of bread. He sat back down in the other chair and started thinking again.

This kid could upset all his plans.

Beyton, head of one of the town's thief's guilds, had approached Garrett about a week ago with a proposition. There was, outside the city limits, a large castle where a sorceress lived. Beyton wanted Garrett to go to the castle and rob the place, naturally. With one little twist. One of the best thieves in the city (and, some thought, Beyton's mistress) would be robbing the castle at the same time. A head to head competition, to see who could get the most loot out of the castle without getting caught. It was, essentially, a bet to see who was the better thief, and Garrett had accepted. If he won, Beyton promised not to send him any more death threats. If he lost, (a thing so impossible it was ludicrous) Garrett would have to join Beyton's guild.

He was not going to lose.


	2. Chapter 2

The kid's voice broke Garrett's train of thought. "You know, Mr. Garrett, I know how to read. There was a man who taught me, a Mr. Tingley, and even though he couldn't afford decent lodgings, he managed to accumulate a great quantity of books. I lived with him for the better part of a year, before he succumbed to illness. I suppose this was 3 years ago. The very first thing he taught me to read was the contract with his landlord! Horrible fellow, he was. The landlord, that is. He made poor Mr. Tingley pay entirely too much for his apartment. Mr. Tingley called him beastly behind his back, but when I said it, he said I shouldn't be cursing, young one that I am. I think Mr. Tingley was one of the kindest people I have ever had the honor of knowing, oh, except for you, Mr. Garrett. I say, you seem like a quiet type. Do you not have anything to say?"

Garrett had been listening with mild astonishment throughout the kid's monologue. He just would not shut up! The kid had finished his light meal and was now flipping through a book. He must have gotten it off the bookcase while Garrett was deep in thought. "What are you reading now?"

"Well, Mr. Garrett, that is the very reason why I started this topic of conversation. Since I can read, and I did not want to disturb you while you were thinking, I got this book off your shelf. I opened it up, and I could not understand a single thing. I say, it almost resembles a picture book, but not like any I have ever seen. Perhaps you could tell me what it is?"

"Let me see it."

The kid struggled to lift the heavy tome off his lap. When he did, Garrett saw the red leather cover and the gilded edges of the pages. His blood turned cold.

"You see, Mr. Garrett? I cannot make any sense of it at all."

"You're not supposed to."

"Kindly explain your meaning."

Garrett crossed the room and took the book from the kid. "They're Keeper hieroglyphs," he said as he put the book back.

The kid laughed. "Sir, I'll ask you not to pull my leg. Everyone knows the Keepers are mere myth."

"Oh, they're real all right."

The kid craned his neck to look at Garrett. His eyes were wide. "Is that true, sir?"

"I told you, stop calling me sir."

"Please, tell me, are the Keepers real?"

"I _already_ told you."

The kid's body was quivering with excitement. "Could you teach me how to read the hieroglyphs?"

"No."

"Do you know how to read them?"

Garrett sat back down. "I used to."

"Then you-_you_ were a Keeper!"

"No."

He stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "You need some sleep." He tossed the kid a blanket and went into his bedroom. Once inside, he locked the door, opened the secret compartment in his closet (yes, this apartment had a secret compartment, apparently Garrett required it), and pulled out enough thiefy supplies for a little hit. He didn't really want to leave the kid here alone, but what were the chances of him wandering into his closet . . . after breaking down the bedroom door? Besides, the rent was due tomorrow and he needed the money. Anyway, the kid wouldn't go anywhere. This was probably the most comfortable place he'd been in for months.

Garrett dropped out his window to the cobbled alley below. He had decided earlier to hit the Broken Duck Pub. It was popular enough to have plenty of money, but it was out of the way, so he could avoid having to deal with the City Watch on night patrol.

***

A few hours later, Garrett was back in his bedroom. The hit had gone off without a hitch. He had peeked into the living room and found the kid asleep in the chair, buried underneath the blanket.

The only thing that bothered him was the peculiar sensation of being watched. Several times during his outing, he had felt like someone was following him. He had been more careful than usual and had watched his back, but had seen no one else the whole time. But still . . . that feeling. The Keepers? Maybe. For reasons unknown to him, the Keepers liked to keep tabs on him. They couldn't leave him alone . . . and he couldn't get away.

Sometimes that really angered him, the fact that the Keepers were always watching. No matter how skillful or artistic a thief he was, they always managed to find him. Of course, then he always managed to find other things to think about. Like the kid sleeping in the next room, for example.

***

It was morning. Garrett opened his eyes and found the kid's face six inches away from his own. He jumped, going from asleep to wide awake in 1 second flat. He grabbed the kid's collar. "What're you doing in here? How'd you even get in?"

"You left your door unlocked, and to answer your first question, your landlord is here and he wants your rent."

"Oh." Garrett sat up and rubbed his eyes. He took the bag of gold off his nightstand and shuffled to the apartment door. He gave the money to the landlord and closed the door. As he went back into his bedroom, he paused a moment. He could have sworn he had locked the door again after checking in on the kid. He must be losing his mind . . .

***

It was after dinner, and Garrett was getting ready to go. The kid saw him putting food into a bag. "What are you doing, sir?"

"I have to go somewhere. For my job. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but there's, uh, enough food in the cupboard for a couple of days." If a couple of days was how long it would take to clean out the castle, that's how long he was going to stay.

"Where are you going?"

"That's none of your business." He realized how suspicious that sounded. "It's just a small business trip. Don't mess with anything."

"Oh, sir, I mean, Mr. Garrett, you are permitting me to stay on your premises while you are away? How kind! I promise, I shall be the most perfect guest you have ever had."

Had he ever had a guest at his old apartment? He didn't think so. Unless you counted the late Sheriff Truart's goons laying in wait for him. He didn't. 

The kid was still talking. "When you return, Mr. Garrett, do you think you could tell me about the Keepers?"

Garrett paused in his preparations. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I . . . don't know anything about them." That was almost the truth. He knew the Keepers were on their quest for Balance, but since he had been only an acolyte, he didn't really know much about the Keepers' inner workings.

"But even I, a poor homeless boy, know of the Keeper myths. Surely a learned man such as yourself must be an expert on them."

"Drop it, kid."

"Have I angered or upset you in any way, sir? If so, I am dreadfully sorry."

"Shut up, would you?"

The kid clapped his mouth shut.

"That's better!" Garrett was losing his temper. "You just can't shut up! You've been talking ever since you got here!"

The kid shrank into the chair.

Garrett noticed. He didn't say anything else. He hadn't meant to yell at the kid, but bringing up the Keepers had that effect on him. He continued to get ready. The kid would be fine here by himself. And if he got into his closet, well, he'd have to kill him.

***

Garrett had made it to the castle. On the way, he had had that same strange sensation of someone following him. Still, he had seen no one.

Beyton and several members of his guild were waiting for him. "Well, Garrett, for a while there I thought you weren't going to show up!"

"Enough small talk. Is she ready?"

"I am." The owner of the cool response stepped out from behind Beyton.

She was not what Garrett had expected. Okay, so he didn't know what exactly he had been expecting, but this wasn't it. Her jet black hair was fastened into two buns on top of her head. She wore a skintight black leather outfit with black soft leather boots. All of her exposed skin was covered with intricate navy blue tattoos. Underneath her black cloak Garrett could see at least 2 daggers, plus a sword, and quiver.

Garrett had never met her before. He had heard stories, though. Mara (for that was her name) left a trail of blood in her wake. She was very stealthy, but whenever a guard did detect her, they would invariably pay for that mistake with their life. She was supposedly skilled in various disciplines of martial arts, and if all the rumors were true, Garrett could believe it.

She wouldn't beat him, though. Garrett was sure of it. He was confident in his skills. And why shouldn't he be? He had never met his match yet. And this woman . . . well, she might be good, but she killed. And that was the telltale mark of an amateur.

"You both know the rules," Beyton said gruffly. "Whoever comes out of the castle with the most loot wins." He turned to Mara and kissed her.

Garrett looked away. "Can we get started already?"

"Fine. The contest starts now."

Mara darted towards the castle. Garrett was startled. She moved quickly. Of course, the faster you are, the less careful you are. Garrett headed towards the castle at a more reasonable pace.

***

Hours later, Garrett was deep inside the castle, lost, frustrated, and bewildered at how everything had gone wrong.

Getting through the wall had been a breeze. Avoiding the guards while traversing the space between the wall and castle, child's play. And then he was inside.

Garrett hadn't known anything about the layout of the castle when he accepted Beyton's challenge. So the first thing he had done was hightail it over to a local tavern. He didn't know the name of the place. The hanging wooden sign with that information had been worn away by the elements, and only a few traces of white paint remained.

Garrett didn't go to taverns much, not after that ambushing incident, another example of Truart's handiwork. But he needed information, and this was the best way to get it.

The place was full of its usual clientele: the ruffians and the hooligans, the depressed and the homeless, the drunks and the criminals. Drunken laughter filled the place, along with smoke from cheap cigars and a not-so-faint smell of urine.

One of Garrett's acquaintances (he couldn't really call him a friend, a friendship wasn't built on mistrust and greed) was able to tell him where to get a map of the castle in between quaffs of ale and gales of hysterical laughter. Garrett was barely able to conceal his disgust. Long ago, he had made it a habit to stay sober, for alcohol dulled the senses, and in Garrett's line of work, dull senses led to death.

So Garrett had gone where his "friend" recommended, and for a modest fee got three crumpled, stained, but perfectly readable pieces of parchment.

And at home he had studied the plans by firelight. There was a wall, twenty feet high, encircling the entire castle. There were three ways in. The first was the main gate, almost as tall as the wall itself and used for horses and wagons. Next to it was a normal-sized door that people used to enter. Both, obviously, would be heavily guarded. The sorceress was well off and it wasn't likely she would skimp on home security costs.

Then there was the back door. According to the map, this door was hidden from view by heavy forests behind the castle. This was the logical choice. Garrett thought it was amazing how many of the nobles had such an easy mode of entrance. In almost all the places he had hit in his long and distinguished career, most of them had another, easier way in than through the front door. And these "secret" doors, more often than not, had no more than one guard standing watch.

Garrett was more than a match for one guard.

So after knocking the guard out and hiding him in the deep shadows of the forest, Garrett entered the expansive garden growing between the wall and castle. The looming trees provided ample cover. Then the cold, gray stone walls came into view. Garrett could see a light on in one of the arched windows of the third floor. The sorceress's bedchamber.

A well-placed rope arrow into a wooden balcony provided access to the second floor. This way he would bypass the first floor. According to the map, the first floor was filled with nothing but storage space, servant quarters, and other rooms not worthy of searching. Although he might go back later and rummage through the storage rooms, the more valuable goods were likely to be found on the second and third floors.

So Garrett was in. He found himself in the ballroom. Tiled floor, wooden wall, big fountain in the middle. It reminded him very much of the ballroom at Angelwatch. Except here there were no metal children, no mages shooting balls of magic at him, no annoying guests to give away his presence.

He liked this one better. Especially when he found a small gold statuette on an end table. He hefted the statuette in his hand. It'd probably be worth 50 coins. He slipped it in his pocket.

He paused at the only door leading out. According to the map, a hallway was on the other side of this door, and two guards patrolled it. Garrett put his ear to the door. Footsteps were getting closer. He waited, and after a few seconds, he heard the footsteps leading away. He cracked the door open. The guard was about fifteen feet away. All the way at the other end of the hall, the second guard had turned and was coming back this way. Garrett slipped into the hall and pulled the door to. He crouched and pressed himself against the right wall. The next door was the library, and he quickly went in and shut the door before the other guard could see him.

The library was filled with bookcases from the floor to the ceiling. Long tables covered with papers and books took up most of the space in the center of the room. He sifted through some of them and found a letter addressed to one Camilla Berkham (the sorceress) from a Mr. Dilley of the Eastern Dayport (the next word was smudged so badly he couldn't identify it) Society.

He put the letter back without reading it. He was here for something other than snooping, he reminded himself.

But on another table he did find a tarnished silver key that could come in handy.

He continued according to the plan he had established. After the library came the dining hall, and four gold candlesticks were added to the statuette he had found earlier.

Two guards were standing outside of the hall, and in a rather drunken voice Garrett heard one of them remark, "Ha you seen Jonaten's girlfren yet? She wuz supposed ta meet us here by now. An you KNOW how I hate waitin."

The other guard slapped him on the shoulder. "She'll be here, alright. Hyuh! If it sa last thing I do. I need a drink." He raised a bottle to his lips and drank gustily. Half of the cheap liquor poured down his chin as he staggered on his feet.

Garrett slipped behind the one not drinking (not at the moment, anyway) and knocked him over the head with his blackjack. He lowered the body to the floor and darted back into the shadows to wait and see if a flash bomb would be necessary. The other guard lowered the bottle. He licked his lips and squinted at his fallen comrade. "Heyah," he mumbled. "Git up." He nudged the body with his foot. Garrett darted back over and sent the second guard into dreamland. He took both the bodies and dragged them into the dining hall. If Jonathan's girlfriend showed up, whoever she was, she would find her meeting with the drunken guards unexpectedly cancelled.

The last thing he did before leaving the two sleeping beauties was take their coin purses.

***

Mara had started speedily, to be sure, but she wasn't stupid. She knew hastiness meant death for a thief. She just wanted to make sure she got a head start. Earlier, she had made sure to set up a bribe with the guard at the back door (the same one Garrett was to knock out a few minutes later). She had gotten in without any trouble and was soon inside the first floor of the castle.

A kitchen servant had spotted her while she was on her way to the second floor stairs. It was his greatest and last mistake. She had clapped her hand over the servant's mouth to keep him from calling for help. Her other tattooed hand whipped a dagger from her cloak. With practiced efficiency, she sliced the jugular of the poor servant (he couldn't have been very old, perhaps twenty). The blood gushed out in copious amounts. Mara dragged the body, steadily weakening, back into the kitchen. The dying man opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but all that came out was more of the warm, coppery fluid. It spattered all over his coarse cotton shirt. The young man's hands reached up, perhaps to try to stop his assailant, perhaps in an attempt to staunch his own bleeding. Either way, the result was a strong backhand in the face from his executioner.

Mara dragged the body in front of the large brick fireplace. She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, partially from the effort of dragging the body, partially from the heat of the roaring fire.

She looked down at the young man. 

He looked up at her. His chest heaved and he coughed up blood. His hand—stained red—pawed the air. A large red welt was rising on his face where she had slapped him, but he hadn't the presence of mind to notice.

As the room was covered with a red haze and began to spin, the young man thought of his wife, equally young. He had met her a year ago in the marketplace. He was still looking for a job then, and was haggling over bread with one of the vendors when out of the corner of his eye he saw something.

Some_one_, rather.

It was the most beautiful sight his young eyes had ever seen. He had stopped talking in mid-sentence and the vendor had turned his attention to another customer. The young man took a few halting steps towards this beauty, as if fearing his presence might scare her away or shatter the illusion.

But the beauty didn't run away or disappear. In fact, at that moment, she turned and saw him looking at her. He didn't want to be caught staring but couldn't tear his eyes away. When she saw him, her lips made a startled 'O' that turned into a smile. Her head tilted, making her lovely hair fall over one shoulder, and the young man thought his heart would melt.

Then he realized he wanted to say something. He was surprised to discover he had his tongue but was unable to use it.

She realized his dilemma and used her own. "Hullo, sir. I couldn't help but notice you there." Blushing slightly, she offered him her hand. Bowing, he took and kissed it.

And felt his heart fall. There was no way a beauty like this could love him. His looks weren't a problem, he felt sure. He had a strong jaw and warm brown eyes.

But he was poor, and that was his problem. He hadn't enough muscles to do manual labor, nor the training to be a guard. The only thing he excelled at was cooking, and he hadn't found anyone willing to hire him yet.

He raised his eyes slowly, wanting to savor the moment, knowing deep in his heart that it wouldn't last. When his eyes reached her face, they studied it intently. The luscious full lips. The lively green eyes. The coppery hair cascading to her shoulders like a waterfall made of silk.

Then he noticed the little crinkle lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her skin was tan, not the pale color of a woman used to being indoors. His eyes dropped back to her hand and for the first time noticed the calluses.

She was a worker like him, and this filled him with joy.

His joy was compounded when a month later she accepted his marriage proposal, and more still when she announced her pregnancy.

Their daughter, named Elizabeth, was almost two months old now. She had the same sharp green eyes and coppery hair as her mother.

Her hair was the same color, in fact, as the blood spilling from his neck.

This fact shocked the young man and broke him out of his reverie. His arms flailed.

One of Mara's black leather boots shot out and kicked him in the head.

The young man gasped, trying to pull oxygen into his drowning lungs. He couldn't die. Couldn't leave his beautiful wife. He just couldn't . . . tears started streaming down his face.

He looked up at the woman standing over him. She was beautiful too, in a cold sort of way. It made him shiver to think about it.

He realized he was shivering, in spite of the fireplace just a few feet away, thanks to his body shutting down.

The woman standing over him noticed this and bent down. She whispered in his ear, "I know how to warm you up." Her voice sounded like how a venomous snake would sound if it could talk.

The man struggled to see her through the blood and tears. He was fading away quickly now. The steady flow of blood from his neck had decreased to a slow ebb, only because most of his eight pints were splattered on his clothes and the floor.

She gripped him under his arms and lifted his upper torso off the floor. With a grunt, she heaved him, headfirst, into the flames. The man, facedown in the burning wood and choking on his own blood, could not even scream. His body twitched, but that was all.

Mara watched this thoughtfully. Presently she took the bloody dagger she had used on the young man and held it up to her face, as if to study it closely. She licked it clean, then refreshed and exhilarated from the kill, she continued on her way.

***

Garrett went down the hallway, looking for a certain spot marked on his map. He found the unlit torch and turned it, revealing a hidden room. Inside were stacks of paintings leaning against the walls, half-naked statues, and miscellaneous odds and ends. He found a pair of gorgeous jeweled goblets on a small table inlaid with pearl. He also found a mine. An odd thing to keep there, considering, but he wasn't complaining.

He went back out in the hallway and turned the torch again. The back of his neck prickled. He ducked into a shadow. _Some_one was here. It was the same feeling he had at the Broken Duck Pub, only . . . stronger.

He waited almost ten minutes, crouching in the shadow. His legs started to cramp. Finally, the feeling of being watched started to subside. He got up slowly. But he didn't like it. Something was rotten here, and he wanted to know what it was.

He rolled a scouting orb around a corner and waited for his vision to switch over. After a flash of white, he could see down the hall. It was clear, so he rounded the corner and retrieved the orb.

A ghostly wind blew through the drafty castle.

Garrett had pulled out his map to check it, and the wind ruffled the edges. He looked up and down the hall. Still empty. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the map.

***

Mara stepped into the dining hall. It was immediately obvious that someone had been here. The candlesticks were gone. Two unconscious guards were slumped in a corner. "The bastard," she muttered contemptuously.

***

Garrett had entered some kind of lounge, with big velvet couches and overstuffed chairs. The walls were covered in the sorceress's royal blue banners. They were embroidered in gold with her symbol, a blazing fire. Nothing good in there, though. He approached the only door in the room to leave when he heard voices on the other side. They were coming his way.

Garrett fairly jumped away from the door. He hurried to the other side of the room and hid himself in the shadow behind one of those massive couches.

The door opened, and three guards stepped in.

"Are you sure we should be in here?" one of them asked.

"Sure I'm sure."

"Ah, she wouldn't care anyway," the third one added.

Great, Garrett thought. He was trapped in here. Unless he wanted to take on all three of them . . . no, he didn't. He wasn't a _warrior_, for crying out loud. He'd just have to wait until they left. But still, time was not on his side. Every minute he was trapped in here was another minute his adversary had the castle to herself.

"Didja see the stuff in the last delivery?" one of the guards asked. "Man, whatta haul! Sure wish I was a baroness."

"You _look_ like one," one of the other guards cracked.

"Wott delivery?"

"It came in last week. All kindsa fancy stuff. You know, gold joolry, jools, and all the rest. An' new clothes and stuff ta decorate the castle. These _women_, I tell ya."

"As long as I get paid, I don't care if she pisses on a wall and calls it Picasso."

"Who tha hell is that?"

"What kinda stuff?"

"Oh, Oriental rugs an' fancy silk dresses. A lot better stuff than what we get to wear."

"Funny, I never thought o' you as a silk dress kinda guy."

"Shut up."

"I didn't sees any o' this stuff. Where is it?"

"Where else, ya moron? Down in the vault."

"We really should get outta here."

"Quit yo fussing, baby."

"Nah, he's right. She'll have our heads on a platter if she found out we was in here."

"_Fine_," the guard said with a sigh. "You guys are wimps. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I believe it was _you_ who didn't wanna drink on the job."

The guard slapped the speaker. "I got allergies." 

The other two laughed.

"Yeah, next thing ya know you'll be allergic to beautiful women."

The three went out into the hall, still laughing and arguing.

Garrett found their conversation fascinating.

***

The vault that the guards spoke of was presumably secret enough that his mapmaker didn't know anything about it. At least, there wasn't anything on the map about a vault.

Which meant one of two things. One, he didn't know of any vault.

Two, he neglected to put it on the map.

Garrett didn't know which one it was, but either way, that vault was key to winning the contest. And if it _was_ secret, he had a good chance of getting to it first.

There was just one problem. He didn't know where it was.

And what was he going to do, tie up one of the guards and interrogate him?

Not likely. These guys were tough, despite their joking around with each other. Guards ate guys like him for breakfast. He defeated them with the element of surprise and a bag full of tricks, but in hand-to-hand combat? He knew _he'd_ be the one coming out of that confrontation in traction, not the guard.

So what were his other options?

Forget about the vault. Try his luck on the third floor. He was still a master thief, and there was a good chance he would still beat Mara. Try to find the vault. The guard had said "down in the vault," so he knew it was on the first floor. Odd, though. Most nobles keep their valuables close to them and far away from their servants. Either the sorceress (apparently a baroness, as well) was confident in the vault's impenetrability, or she was stupid. Forget the contest. Just run away. 

So those were his options, the third of which was not an option at all.

He wanted that vault.

***

Mara was furious. Angry by nature, the recent past events had stoked her fire. The martial arts, meant to teach control and self-restraint, had only served as another tool to accomplish her goals.

Beyton was one of the subjects of her fury. She didn't _want _to be here. Beyton had forced her to be here. And she hated being forced to do anything. Especially _this_. This whole thing was . . . foolishness. A waste of her time. She had better things to do than act as a distraction for Garrett so he wouldn't suspect anything was awry.

And then he had begun to sabotage the plan anyway. Knocking out the two guards before she could rendezvous with them. Ooh, it made her blood boil.

She hated Beyton. Garrett. The idiot sorceress who was the whole reason she was here. Hated them all.

She had started stealing things, almost unconsciously. A gold ring here, an expensive bag of spice there. Beyton had told her not to, but she would show them. She was not to be made a fool of.

Screw the _plan_. She had her own agenda now.

***

Jonathan Beyton stood outside the castle with several other members of his guild.

"Sir, can we leave now?" one of them asked him.

"No, we need to wait for confirmation."

"But sir-"

Beyton raised his voice. "I don't care if we're here until the sun comes up. We _will_ wait for confirmation. It was part of the agreement. Don't forget, you're getting paid to stand here."

"Yes, sir."

***

Garrett was on the first floor, dusty and discouraged. He had searched thoroughly for any signs of a vault.

He had even found Mara's signature, the charred remains of a human in the kitchen fireplace.

But he had found no signs of a vault.

Perhaps even more disturbing, that feeling of being watched was back. He had always lived in the shadows, but now even they had turned on him. Every dark patch in the castle was now suddenly alive, with strange shadow-creatures whose motives he didn't know.

He was no longer sure that his watchers were Keepers, and even that bothered him. What was that saying? The known devil is better than the unknown, something like that.

He looked around him. He was in one of the larger storage rooms, filled with wooden crates and plenty of darkness. His eyes, one of metal and the other of flesh, strained to see.

There! He was _sure_ something was lurking about over there.

He drew his sword.

He heard a scuffling sound, like feet trying to move in a hurry across a dusty floor.

"Who's there?" His voice sounded taut and strained. He had always thought he kept a cool head under pressure, but this place gave him the heebie-jeebies.

The noise again, behind him this time! He spun around in a circle, his cloak swirling around in an attempt to catch up with him.

Well, that was it. He had faced haunts, giant spiders, and man-apes, and now he was scared to death of _shadows_, no less. He took out a flare, lit it, and threw it where he had last heard the noise.

And got another shock.

Standing there, hair disheveled and face streaked with dirt, was the kid.

***

Garrett could have killed him. He had never been so angry (or relieved, he told himself reluctantly) to see anyone in his life.

"What the hell are you _doing_ here!"  
The kid's lower lip quivered. "I think I'm lost."

"Lost! You shouldn't be here in the first place! Why the hell _are_ you here?"

"I . . . followed you."

Ah, so that explained it. Garrett had felt like he was being watched because he _was_ being watched. And here he thought he was just paranoid.

Garrett sheathed his sword. He found he was breathing heavily. "Were you following me the other night?"

The kid looked around the room, trying to do anything but make eye contact.

"You were, weren't you."

"I am dreadfully sorry, sir, but I have this natural curiosity that made me want to know where you were going."

Garrett gestured to the crates and boxes. "Well, now you know! Now get out of here."

"I told you, I'm lost. I've been wandering around in here for hours, it seems. This compound is quite extensive."

Garrett could feel himself losing his temper. "You are leaving, right now." He took the kid by the collar and started walking at a brisk pace, half-pulling and half-dragging the kid behind him.

"You aren't mad, are you, Mr. Garrett?"

"Mad? Oh no, I'm not _mad_. Why should I be _mad_? If you've followed me, then you obviously know what I'm doing here. So you should also know that your presence here is jeopardizing the whole thing!"

"I'm terribly sorry to cause you any trouble, even if the 'thing' you are referring to is the robbing of an innocent woman."

"Yeah, well, it's what I do. You don't like it, tough. You can find someone else to feed you."

They were at the back door of the castle wall. The guard was still unconscious and the dark woods seemed clear of people. Garrett shoved the kid out. He fell to the ground. "Mr. Garrett, sir, is there any chance you would let me stay at your apartment again?"

Garrett couldn't believe this guy. "I don't care what you do. But you can't stay here." With that, he turned and went back into the castle.


	3. Chapter 3

The kid got up and brushed himself off. He trudged into the woods, weaving slightly. The light meal he had received from his host had done little to build his strength back, and wandering around for hours in the castle hadn't help any.

His slender ankle caught on a root, and he fell to the ground. As he pushed himself up, a bolt of pain shot up his left arm. Stifling a cry, he gingerly touched the wrist. Definitely broken.

He sat down on a soft hill of moss and cradled his wrist in his hand. His whole arm was throbbing up to his shoulder now.

What made him temporarily forget his predicament was the sound of voices coming closer. He crept behind a bush and peered through the thick green branches. It was still night, but the moon was full and he could see the two men bathed in pale white light. One of them lit a pipe. A random thought flitted through the kid's head: that man could start a forest fire.

"So what _are_ we looking for, exactly?" one of the men asked his companion.

"I dunno. I don't think Beyton knows, either. Between you and me, I think he's losing it. This is such a waste of time."

"I don't mind. The baroness has deep pockets, my man!" He laughed.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you're too yellow to do any real thieving."

"Hey, if the boss wants us to wait around in the woods until Garrett gets caught, that's fine with me. I never liked him anyway."

"Who, the boss, or Garrett?"

"Yeah."

"Well, don't let him hear you saying that."

The first man said something else, but by then they were too far away for the kid to hear it. Behind the cover of the bush, he sat and thought. These men, working for someone called Beyton, were looking for something. They didn't even know what it was. And they were waiting . . . for Garrett to get caught. That implied that they had set some kind of trap for him. And _that_ meant . . . Garrett was in trouble! Thief or not, he had rescued him from Shoalsgate, and given him food and shelter. He owed him.

The kid got up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm. He walked surely towards the castle, his steps now with a purpose.

***

Mara, balancing perfectly, made her way across the room on the rafters. Below her, the guards were completely ignorant of her presence. But they would find out soon enough. She was in the mood for a fight. A little more practice until she went upstairs and took care of the sorceress.

She leapt from the rafter and fell the fifteen feet to the floor. She landed silently right behind a guard. She kicked low and knocked the guard off his feet. He fell to the floor with a grunt and a thud.

Alerted, the second guard nocked an arrow onto his bow. He shot it at the intruder, aiming for the heart. With catlike reflexes, Mara caught the arrow in midair before it could bury itself in her chest. Another second saw the hand with the arrow arcing down gracefully towards the first guard. She buried the sharp tip of the arrow in the guard's neck. The wooden shaft snapped with the force of the impact, and she threw it down.

She turned to face the second guard, who was currently charging her with his sword drawn. She shook her head before running towards him. An instant before his sword would have taken off her head, a spinning kick sent the sword flying out of his hand and landing on the other side of the room. Her slim body still spinning, her left elbow smashed into the guard's face, breaking his nose. He staggered backwards, his arms flailing. She gave the doomed man a strong kick in the stomach, and he fell to the floor. He raised himself up on his elbows, about to get up. The last thing he saw was a flash of silver, an instant before his head was disconnected from his body.

Mara sheathed her sword and headed for the stairs.

***

After escorting the kid out of the castle, Garrett had decided on an uneasy plan. He would sneak up on the sorceress, surprise her, and force her into telling him where the vault was. Holding her hostage would be the key to getting in and out of there alive.

He paused by a window. The sky looked like it was getting lighter. He was running out of time. He could easily stay undetected in the castle for days, but he couldn't very well roam around while the sun was up without being spotted. In any case, he wanted to get this over with.

***

The kid stopped to catch his breath. Running up a flight of stairs was probably not the best thing to be doing in his condition. But he had to warn Garrett. Something was going on.

***

Jonathan Beyton appeared at ease, his hands clasped lightly behind his back, his eyes watching the top floor of the castle. But in reality he was worried. The only reason he was here was because Dilley was an old friend. He certainly harbored no secret desires to help the sorceress. But gold can make a man want to do almost anything. And it was gold, a lot of it, that had brought him here, in the forest, soon before dawn.

That's why he was concerned. Once Garrett had been delivered to the sorceress, they were supposed to receive some kind of signal. And Mara should have returned. So far, neither one had happened. And the sun would be up soon.

He motioned to three members of his guild standing by him. "This is taking too long."

"Do you think something happened?"

Beyton shook his head. "I don't know. But it's taking too long. It's time we take this into our own hands. Let's go."

They headed toward the castle.

***

With one master thief, one starving kid, four members of an untalented thieving guild, and one disgruntled mistress all roaming around the expansive top floor right before dawn, the sorceress's castle was far from peaceful. Yet the sorceress herself was calm, standing in front of the bay window of her bedroom and waiting for the sun to come up.

Without turning around she said, "Ah, Garrett. You're finally here."

Garrett remained as silent as he had been since he entered.

Now the sorceress turned. She looked directly into the shadows Garrett thought he was totally concealed in. "There's no use in hiding. The mind knows what the eyes do not."

Garrett didn't move. _How can she see me? She must be guessing._

"If you won't come out . . ." She left her sentence unfinished. "Very well, have it your way." She clapped her hands and dozens of candles scattered around the room suddenly and unanimously lit.

Garrett's cover was blown. _Okay, so she wasn't guessing._ _So much for the element of surprise._

The sorceress strolled across the room to a high-backed chair and sat down. Leaning back nonchalantly she pulled a small lever. It would detonate the sunburst device at the very top of the castle. It was the signal for that pitiful peasant Beyton and his laughable troop of henchmen, a sign that they could return to their life of mediocrity.

"You were expecting me," Garrett said. It was a statement, not a question.

"My dear Garrett, I am the very _reason_ you are here."

__

Of course you are. It's your castle I'm here to rob.

"Although frankly I expected you here sooner. I trust my guards didn't give you any trouble."

A little warning bell was currently sounding in Garrett's head. This whole thing just wasn't right.

"Not much for chit-chat, are you? Well, that's all right. This is a business meeting, after all."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been watching you for some time, Mr. Garrett, and I must say, your skills are quite impressive. You've become something of a legendary figure in this city's underground. A former Keeper, who gave up one hidden life for another. Living in shadows, always one step ahead of the law. You faced the Trickster and the Hammerites. You destroyed Karras, former leader of the Mechanists. You killed the corrupt Sheriff Truart."

"I didn't kill him." _But if I had gotten to him first, I just might have._

She waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter."

"So what's your point?"

"My point, Mr. Garrett, is that you are an exceptional thief. You have the skill and luck necessary to stay alive. But one day your luck will run out."

Garrett was silent.

"I wasn't trying to offend you. It was merely an observation."

"What do you want with me?"

"I have a proposition for you. You and I, Mr. Garrett, could be a team. Together we could take down the most powerful enemies. I could be a very useful ally. Wouldn't it be nice to have a friend in high places?"

"You want us to be partners?"

"Don't sound so incredulous. I mean what I say."

"I work alone."

"Well, I didn't intend that we'd travel the streets together. There are other kind of alliances."

"What's in it for you?"

"The wonderful conversation!" the sorceress laughed. Calming herself, she said, "Seriously, I need your help. My recent attempts to break into politics have made me quite unpopular with many of Dayport's movers and shakers. I've already had several attempts made on my life. I need to dispense of these threats permanently."

"You want me to be a hit man."

"I can offer you money, Mr. Garrett. Quite a lot of it. And if you ever get into trouble, I have contacts who could help you."

"Sorry, lady. I'm not an assassin."

"You've killed before."

"It's not my first choice. I'm not a murderer; I'm a thief. Which reminds me, I have a little business to take care of, and you're going to help me."

The sorceress got up from her chair, a bitter smile on her face. "Ah yes, your little bet with the incompetent Beyton. _I_ was the one who put him up to it. I needed you to come to me; I can't be seen fraternizing with a thief. No, you had to be persuaded to come here, and what better way than insulting your pride? A challenge from a joker like him was something I knew you couldn't refuse. And here we are."

__

So all this was just some elaborate setup to bring me here? In order to ask me to kill her political enemies? Get real, lady.

He drew his sword and held it in the sorceress's direction. "No more games. Where's your vault?"

"I really think you should reconsider, Mr. Garrett." She went back to gazing out the window. "I've made you quite an offer."

"I told you, I don't kill people for a living."

"Ah, but you have more skill! More finesse! You could do the job ten times better than anyone else I could hire. You are far too clever and talented to get caught and lead a trail back to me."

__

So, first you dismiss my talent, but now that you need something from me, you're all compliments. How convenient. His voice rose. "The vault!"

The sorceress swirled around, her long black hair flying. "Don't you get it, Garrett? There _is_ no vault! Do you really think it was nothing but a simple coincidence that my guards happened to talk about one where you could overhear them? Are you too blind to see that I have been pulling your strings all along?"

Garrett was seething. "You'd make a fine politician," he said through clenched teeth. "Unfortunately for you, it's never going to happen." He stepped closer.

"You want to kill me? Tsk tsk, Mr. Garrett. I thought you were smarter than that. Redeem yourself by accepting my offer."

Garrett sheathed his sword. "I've had enough of your nonsense." He turned to leave.

"Stop!"

Something in her voice made Garrett do just that. He looked over his shoulder and saw the sorceress bathed in a fiery red aura. He had spent enough time around angry creatures with magical powers to know that this was a good time to exit. He ran for the door.

The floor shook with the sorceress's fury. "GARRRRETTTTT," she bellowed. She raised her arm towards Garrett and flames flew from her hand. They missed their intended target, instead turning an antique armoire into an instant bonfire.

Garrett ran out the door, into the hall. There he found a grisly scene. While he and the sorceress had been talking, Mara and the guild members ran into each other in the third floor hallway. Upon seeing them, Mara immediately went into kill mode. She sliced one of them in half with one swipe of her sharp blade. Intestines and blood coated the rug. Then she threw a dagger right between the eyes of a second guild member. The third put up a fight by shooting an arrow at her. She easily dodged it and countered with a dagger in the man's belly. He pulled it out and was about to draw his sword when he was suddenly engulfed in spasms. He fell to the floor, dead. The dagger had been poisoned.

She had saved Beyton for last. With three of his guild members dead on the floor, Beyton was running for his life…but Mara ran faster. As she caught up to him she sliced the tendons in the back of his knees, effectively crippling him. She held him up off the floor by his hair and hissed in his ear, "No one makes me do their dirty work!" With that, she stabbed her dagger into the back of his neck so hard that the tip poked out the front. The doomed man tried to say something but could only gurgle and spew blood. She threw his head forward hard enough to make an audible "bonk" noise on the stone floor, and he was still.

Behind the cover of a stone column, the kid saw all of this. He was terrified. This woman was an absolute maniac. He had to get out of there. Without thinking, he darted from his hiding spot and sprinted for the stairs.

Mara noticed him and pursued. She couldn't let her prey escape. The kid tripped and fell, landing on his broken limb. He cried out in pain. Standing above him, she said, "This is too easy." And she raised her sword above her head. There would be only one powerful finishing blow. The kid's eyes, wide with terror, could only stare at his executioner's face. The muscles in Mara's arms tightened as she prepared to swing her blade.

There was a soft whistling noise. The kid saw the look of surprise on the fearful figure standing before him. Mara looked down at her stomach, where the pointy tip of an arrow protruded from her flesh. The kid looked past her to see Garrett, who had come to his rescue just in time.

But they weren't home free yet. The sorceress was right there, eager to turn both of them into human flambé. Her wrathful expression would have made the Trickster proud. Garrett couldn't help but think, _Hell hath no fury_…

Mara wasn't down for the count either, even with an arrow in her. She turned to Garrett and charged him, sword drawn. He parried the blow and returned one of his own. It was time to get rid of this nuisance and get out of here.

As usual, Mara had different plans. She ducked under Garrett's sword and sliced into his shoulder. It was a glancing blow and Garrett had plenty of strength left to tackle his adversary. They rolled around on the floor for a while, Mara wanting to tear Garrett's skin off with her teeth and Garrett just wanting to get the hell out of this castle.

To make things worse, the sorceress was shooting fireballs at them. The royal blue banners embroidered with gold thread were burning. The antique Oriental rug was burning. The guild members' bodies were burning. One well-aimed shove from Garrett and Mara was burning.

__

And that's the end of that, Garrett thought with relief. His plan for escape was clear. He would grab the kid and jump out one of the arched windows lining the hallway. After falling for three stories, they would have a big lead on the fiery she-demon. After a quick run through the garden to the outer wall, they'd be home free.

He turned to the kid and-

Hey, where'd he go?

His answer was at the other end of the flaming hallway. The sorceress had a white-knuckled grip on the kid's neck. Garrett had no doubt that she could snap it like a twig. "Garrett!" she called. "Have you changed your mind yet? Or do I have to kill your little friend here?" She shook the kid a little.

The kid looked at Garrett desperately, but Garrett's self-preservation instinct overwhelmed whatever incentive he might have had to save the little guy. He jumped out the window. In one swift motion he downed the slowfall potion, saving him from a rather unpleasant end.

The sorceress howled in pure fury as the thief escaped her clutches. Searing waves of heat radiated from her body, incinerating nearby objects.

At the back door in the outer wall, Garrett paused to look back. The flames had reached a kerosene storeroom and a series of explosions had started. Flames shot out of the windows. It rained debris as the structural integrity of the castle began to fail. Flaming blocks of stone landed in the garden, wreaking major havoc on the vegetation.

The dazzling appearance of the sun arrived just in time to illuminate the entire third floor of the castle exploding.

The sight of the blaze hurt Garrett's eye. He turned away. He found himself thinking the same thing he had when Mara had died: _and that's the end of that._ It seemed appropriate.


	4. Chapter 4

The city at night. Fog, cool and thick, shrouded buildings in layers of ghostly white. A hint of a breeze blew lazily, leaving mournful echoes in its wake. The full moon, a bright eye seeing all, cast pale white light on the sleeping town. The muted mutterings of men on patrol and the casual flap of loose windows mingled to create an atmosphere of utter peace. Such was the city at night.

Garrett, as he walked home, witnessed the city in morning. The sun, in precious few minutes, burned away the coolness of the night with the power of its summer rays. The scant breeze, which now would have been welcome, dissipated into nothingness. The air, already stagnant, grew heavier with the smoke of factories. The shadows, so pleasing to the eye, disappeared and revealed once more the filth of the streets. A cacophony of people beginning a new day replaced the soft sounds of the slumbering city. Already, hordes of roaming people and animals packed the streets, scurrying to and fro as they carried out their mundane lives.

Garrett pulled his hood lower over his face. His expression contorted itself into a painful grimace. He wanted to get home. Get off the streets and away from all these…people. The sun pounded down through his hood, soon giving him a throbbing headache. His leather boots strode through back alleys, every step bringing him closer to home. His gloved hands were clenched into tense fists. His eyes, hidden but watchful, darted from side to side, looking for any indication of trouble.

At the same time, his long, easy stride conveyed an intimate knowledge of the streets and discouraged any suspicions. His time among the Keepers had taught him to avoid drawing attention to himself, no matter what he was feeling. As he proceeded on his way, no one gave him a second glance.

Garrett reached his part of town. The streets were not so active, and the sun didn't seem so bright through the layer of smog. Even so, the thief's keen eyes spotted the cloaked figure standing by the door to his apartment building. He stiffened as he realized who it was.

"Garrett."

"Why are _you_ here?"

"Because I see someone who tries to run from life, although he cannot."

"I've had enough of you. Leave me alone."

"We know of your encounter with the sorceress."

"So that's why you came? To tell me that once _again_ the Keepers are looking over my shoulder?"

"I _came_ to tell you that the city is on the verge of chaos."

"That's not my problem."

"You are blind to the forces at work here. I am not the enemy."

"That doesn't make you my friend."

"You have unfinished business in the castle. Garrett, you must go back."

"I don't have to do a damn thing you tell me to, not anymore!"

The Keeper paused. "I see time has not mellowed your temper. Very well, I will not try to change your mind."

And with that, he was gone.

Garrett rubbed his throbbing temples and went inside. He double-locked the door and threw his cloak in a corner. He was tired. He wanted nothing more to do with the late sorceress, or the Keepers, or anything other than sleep. After checking his bed for rats, Garrett, exhausted, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Several days later, Garrett decided to go out. Maybe to the nameless tavern. He wouldn't drink, and he wouldn't socialize. He knew he'd end up sitting alone in a corner with an untouched tankard of ale. He just wanted to get out of his apartment. He'd spent the last few days sitting around and reading some of his books. Not the Keeper ones. He left those alone. He didn't even know why he kept the damn things. Instead, he read some of his dusty histories of the City. It was kind of funny, in a way. When he had still been with the Keepers, he had hated the studying part of his training. But now he found the books almost relaxing. And they certainly helped to pass the time. When he didn't have a job to do, he often found himself sleeping for hours upon hours, or lounging in front of the fireplace in a half-doze. He guessed reading about the ancient origins of the City was better than putting himself into a daily stupor.

Not surprisingly, Garrett found himself at the tavern. He nodded to the bartender and got his ale. All the corner seats were taken, so Garrett stayed at the bar. Two strangers came in and sat near him.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked in a gruff voice.

One of the newcomers took off his hat. "We're new in town. What's good?"

"Here? Nothing!"

The second stranger laughed. "Sounds good. We'll take two."

Garrett raised his drink and pretended to sip it as he glanced over at them. They were dressed peculiarly and had a bit of an accent. They were probably from over the mountains to the east.

The bartender gave them their drinks. "So, where are you from?"

"Over the eastern mountains. Doubt we'll stay long, though. Seems to be some strange goings on in these parts."

"Oh? Like what?"

The strangers looked at each other. "We passed a Hammerite temple a while outside of the city limits."

"Nothin' strange about that. We got them freaks roamin' all over the City."

"But the temple had been destroyed. Burned to the ground. And I don't know too many people who would take on the Hammerites."

The travelers had the barkeep's attention. "Any idea who did it? If I find 'em, I'll give 'em a drink on the house!"

One of the strangers took a drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't know. But there was a banner hanging in front of the temple on a pole. Royal blue with some kinda picture stitched on it in gold. Know a lord around here with that banner?"

The barkeep squinted. "Naw, doesn't ring a bell."

Maybe for him it didn't, but for Garrett it certainly did. He had seen enough of those banners in the castle to recognize this one for what it was. But why would one of her banners be in front of a destroyed Hammerite temple? And who had put it there? Not her, of course. She was dead. And it wouldn't make any sense for one of her political enemies to do such a thing. Who would try to frame a dead woman?

One thing was for certain. He wasn't going to get any answers sitting in a bar. He flipped a coin on the counter and left.

***

As he left the City, Garrett began to have second thoughts. Why the hell should he care who destroyed the temple? He didn't like Hammerites. If they were all destroyed tomorrow, he could care less. And he'd had more than enough of the sorceress and her deceitful ways. So why was he going? Honestly, he didn't know. His curiosity, perhaps. He was curious about the kid; he was curious about this. Or maybe it was just another way to pass the time.

Did it matter, anyway? He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, not to the Keepers and not to himself. And that was reason enough.

__

Those guys weren't kidding when they said it was destroyed. _Whoever did this went all out._

The stone walls had been turned into rubble scattered across the ground. Several piles of wooden pews burned still. The damage was recent, or the rain that had fallen the night before would have extinguished the flames. Burnt Hammerite corpses were scattered around in disarray, their heavy metal hammers still hot to the touch. Several looters picked their way through the rubble, looking in vain for any valuables that had survived the torching. Garrett pulled his cloak up over his face to shield himself from the hanging smoke that refused to dissipate into an atmosphere already full of pollution.

The banner hung limply from a pole in front of the former temple. On top of the pole, a severed Hammerite head was grotesquely posed. Blood had oozed from the head and stained the banner, but it was still easy to recognize the gold-embroidered symbol of the sorceress.

All of his questions remained unanswered. He still didn't know who had destroyed the temple (although the razed temple bore a strange resemblance to the ruined third floor of the castle) and _why_ they had destroyed it. It would take someone either very courageous or very stupid to challenge the Order of the Hammer.

Garrett went back home. He didn't want to be anywhere near the temple when the Hammerites came to investigate. After flipping through one of his books on the hammer-wielding religious zealots, he went to sleep.

***

A few days later, Garrett heard of another destroyed Hammerite temple. He went to visit it. It was much the same as the other one: burning bodies, a royal blue banner, and a Hammerite head on top of a pole. He did find something else, though. One section of stone wall had remained untouched, and someone had fastened a piece of parchment upon it. Garrett took the parchment down and hid it in his cloak. He would examine it in the relative safety of his apartment.

By the light of the fireplace, Garrett tried to read the document. Someone with atrocious handwriting had scrawled words on it in blood. Hammerite blood, no doubt. The thing was harder to read than the cryptic Keeper hieroglyphics. Ah, there was an idea. The Keepers would be able to decipher this thing in no time, with their aptitude for riddles and prophecies. Perhaps he should take it to them. He entertained the idea for a brief moment before dismissing it. He wouldn't ask them for help. In disgust, he tossed the parchment aside. He'd try again tomorrow.

The next day came, and Garrett again attempted to read the smudged and blood-splattered words. He was able to make out something about killing the old ways three times over, the fulfillment of a prophecy of a leader forged in fire, and the blood of an innocent staining the hallowed ground of the enemy. The part about the prophecy seemed to say something about a mirror, walking in shadows, and atoning for the transgressions of the false one.

Garrett had no idea what to make of it. For the second time, he half-wished he had help from his old mentors.

Wait, maybe they already _had_ helped. The Keeper who had visited him had told him that he had unfinished business in the castle. Perhaps he would find the answers he sought there.

Which is how Garrett found himself at the sorceress's castle. Only pieces of columns and remnants of walls remained of the third floor, but the other two were still intact. He entered cautiously, but it was soon evident that his caution was unwarranted. The castle was utterly abandoned.

__

All right, Keepers, you got your wish. I'm here. Now, what did you want me to find?


	5. Chapter 5

The library was a good a place as any to begin his search for answers. It was just as he had left it: tables burdened with stacks of paper and musty volumes decaying on shelves. He glanced at the titles of some of the books: _History of the Order of the Hammer — A Revisionist Perspective_, _Ancient Myths and Lore: The Truth Behind the Trickster_, _The Comprehensive Encyclopædia of Pagan Rituals_, _The Essential Guide to Alchemy and Clockwork_, and _The State of Politics in the City_. Hmm. Interesting reading material.

He sidled over to one of the tables and picked up the letter that he had abandoned before.

_Baroness Markham,_

I am pleased to inform your ladyship that preparations are nearly complete. The first copy of the book is ready and, per orders, will be delivered immediately for safekeeping. I am confident it will serve your ladyship's purposes more than adequately. If I may take the liberty, it is an inspired and ingenious piece of craftsmanship. The pure steel cover was an excellent choice.

In keeping with instructions, I have ordered twenty barrels of high-quality kerosene. The supplier assures me that they shall be delivered as expediently as possible.

I have taken care of the minor financial dispute with the guild leader. Have no concerns; he will cooperate as expected.

My men are, as always, at your ladyship's disposal. We await further instructions.

Forever your humble servant,  
Arthur Dilley of the Eastern Dayport Mechanist Society 

Garrett was stunned. Baroness _Markham_? But that wasn't what it had said on the envelope. He looked again. No, there it was, in plain black ink: Markham. Not Berkham. How could he have made such a mistake? Was he that stressed out? Or worse, were his senses starting to betray him? What good was a thief with failing abilities?

Markham. He would never forget _that_ name after his adventure on the island of the Mechanists and the Cetus Amicus.

And the Mechanists still _existed_? He had hoped that, without a leader, they would dissolve and bother him no more.

It seemed that Miss Markham left out quite a lot when she tried to recruit him. Her "political enemies" were probably the Hammerites, or even the Pagans. She had been a Mechanist all this time, one of his greatest enemies. And she had the _nerve _to try and hide it from him, confident that he would not discover the truth. What a grand joke that would have been, Garrett working for his nemesis and not even knowing it.

He felt a deep surge of anger. That sorceress made a fool of him and killed the kid. If she weren't already dead, he would kill her right now.

His reading abilities seemed to be on the fritz, but at least his critical thinking skills were intact. From her own words and Dilley's submissive attitude, it was easy enough to see that Markham had been the new leader of the Mechanists.

The rest of the letter was more of a puzzle. Like the kerosene, now why would anyone need that much? You wouldn't, unless you wanted to make some pretty big fireworks.

Oh. It appeared the sorceress had anticipated destroying the third floor of her castle. Her words came back to him: "Are you too blind to see that I have been pulling your strings all along?" She had been pulling a considerable number of strings, it seemed.

But what was the deal with the book? The only book he knew of that related to the Mechanists was the New Scripture of the Master Builder. And that didn't exist anymore…right? He wasn't so sure anymore. These Mechanists were full of surprises. In any case, the letter said that the book was going to be delivered soon. And the letter itself was a couple of weeks old. So the book must have been delivered to the castle by now.

It was worth a look. Garrett abandoned the letter and turned his attention to finding the mysterious steel-covered book. He searched the rest of the library but found nothing. Except for the letter, it was undeniably boring.

He wandered the second-floor corridors and thought about what to do next. He barely knew more than he did before. He still didn't know who had destroyed the Hammerite temples, what the bloody prophecy meant, and what the Mechanists were concocting this time.

He remembered a study that had held no interest for him when he thought he was still in a thieving contest. The book just might be there.

***

The book wasn't there. On the desk, near a candle stub and a crystal paperweight, lay three sheets of parchment. Garrett read through them.

__

Revised Edition of the New Scripture of The Master Builder (draft, page 52)

The Necrotic Mutox was meant to wipe the City clean, but the loyal Servants were deceived by human treachery. With swift action, the sacred Children of the Builder were struck to the floor of His Cathedral. Karras, atop his throne, saw that he had failed. He fell upon his knees and cried out, "Oh, Master Builder! Thy divine plans have been foiled!" The Builder came unto Karras and expressed His supreme displeasure. Karras had not made The Builder's Paradise, and so The Builder, as was His right, declared him unworthy of His glorious salvation. Leaving the weak and broken pride of humanity and bane of machinery to turn to Holy Rust, the Builder returned to His haven of unadulterated perfection, where

Revised Edition of the New Scripture of The Master Builder (draft, page 57)

The Builder's loyal followers maintained their faith but were deprived of leadership. They knew not what to do to please Him. They searched for guidance in these Holy Texts. In them, they found the Builder's words, as transcribed by Karras. "He shall make a new leader forged in fire and as unbreakable as a tempered blade. The leader shall usher in a new era by destroying three monuments of the old ways."

Revised Edition of the New Scripture of The Master Builder (draft, page 59)

"The leader shall prove to be worthy by destroying the Builder's enemy, the treacherous Shadow-walker responsible for Karras's death and the prevention of His Paradise coming into being. The leader shall free the Earth from a great scourge by killing the mirror of the Shadow-walker and, in turn, the Shadow-walker himself. This act shall have results three-fold. First, it shall bring the Shadow-walker unto his demise. Second, it shall atone for Karras's miserable failure. Third, it shall disgrace the unholy heathens for all time. All this shall be accomplished, as is the Builder's will, with the simple but profound act of the sacrifice of an innocent. The leader shall perform this act under a new moon"

That was it. Three simple pieces of parchment. Garrett reread them. He felt numb. If he was interpreting them correctly, the sorceress was still alive. Her "death" had been just another part of the plot to take control of the Mechanists. She had planned all of it: the destruction of her castle, the ruination of three Hammerite temples, the elimination of the Shadow-walker. There was no doubt the latter referred to him. The mirror of the Shadow-walker must be the kid, then.

If that sorceress thought she could lead Garrett into a trap, she was sadly mistaken. He'd been through enough by the hands of this woman. It was time to pay some of it back. Pay her back for deceiving him. For interfering with his life. For making him run around in circles. He'd stop her, oh yes. Slowly and deliberately, he ripped the pieces of parchment into bits.

There would be a new moon tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

What to do, what to do. It was the question of the day. Even with everything he'd learned, Garrett still missed one crucial piece of information: the location of the sacrifice. Once he got it, he could kill the sorceress.

And save his "mirror," he added as an afterthought.

It was now dusk. He had precious few hours to discover where the ritual would take place. He could try searching Dilley's hideout or Angelwatch (although he shivered at the thought of returning _there_). But more investigation would consume the little time he had left.

He could try guessing where she'd be and take the chance that he'd be wrong. If the sorceress wanted to disgrace the "unholy heathens," she'd do it on their holy ground, most likely. But was she referring to the Hammerites or the Pagans? There were still plenty of Hammerite temples in the City despite the sorceress's killing spree. And the Pagans could be almost anywhere. No, he wouldn't find her by guessing.

Then again, why do anything? It wasn't an absolute certainty that she'd choose _this night_ to fulfill her plot. And if her ultimate goal was to trap Garrett himself, she would have to postpone her plans if he didn't show up. But he'd be giving up a sure opportunity to kill her. He knew she'd be there, wherever "there" was.

By this point in his musings, Garrett was halfway home. He had passed the third flaming Hammerite temple without surprise. It seemed like the only things he could be sure of anymore were the endless cycles of death and destruction.

He glimpsed a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye. That was another thing he could always count on, the continuous presence of the Keepers.

In an effect to escape his watchers, he increased his pace. So much so, in fact, that he failed to see the wall until he nearly ran into it. He glowered at it for making him break his stride. Too late, he noticed the cryptic markings covering the worn stones. His mind translated the glyphs before he could stop himself.

__

Revised Edition of the New Scripture of The Master Builder (draft, page 60)

"during the middle of the night. The leader shall journey to the centre of the heathen forest, as the treacherous heathens once invaded our sacred Cathedral with the Shadow-walker. After this simple task, the leader shall take the Builder's followers unto the rest of the world and teach His divine practices."

That was it, then. The Pagans. It figured that only the Keepers would be able to get their hands on such a coveted document.

He heard rustling behind him, at once resenting and welcoming their interference. Undoubtedly this all fit with their master plans. They would do (or not do) anything as long as it helped them preserve their precious balance.

He strode away from the glyph-covered wall as fast as he could without running. Now that he knew the sorceress would be in the center of the Pagan forest, there was no time to lose.

Ah, to hell with it. He started running.

By the time he reached the edge of the forest, the night was deepest black. Without any moonlight to guide him, the journey to the center would indeed be tough. Then he noticed the luminescent mushrooms. If his mind had not been occupied with such dark thoughts, he would have allowed himself to smile.

He somehow managed to get deep into the forest without any confrontations, but that soon changed. The path went through an unlit section, and Garrett was wary. He strained his senses and thought he could make out the movements of several men. Then there was a sudden flurry of motion, the juicy sounds of men being impaled, then silence.

Garrett put his hand on the hilt of his sword, as it was the only weapon he had taken with him in his haste.

There was rustling in the bushes to his left. Two glowing green eyes materialized. "Thiefsie-manfool," the owner of the eyes said in a hissing voice that was at once the crash of a waterfall and the soft patter of raindrops. It conveyed authority and compassion while compromising neither. "Remember the promise you made to us."

Promise? Green-eyes must have been referring to the pact he had made with Viktoria against the Mechanists.

"Metal manfools were waiting for you. We killed them for you. Now you must do something for us," the voice hissed. "Kill the sneaksie metal-woman. More manfools are coming. We will stop them."

If the Pagans were going to keep the Mechanists off his back, who was he to argue? He nodded to the seemingly disembodied eyes and went on his way.

Finally, he reached the clearing in the center of the forest. In the dim light of mushrooms he could make out a figure pacing and chanting in a circle. In the center of the circle, the kid was chained to a stone altar. He wasn't moving.

The sorceress continued chanting but moved to a stone basin off to the side of the clearing. She seemed to be mixing something, but it was too dark to tell for sure.

Not that it would matter. She would soon be dead. She had her back to him. It was the perfect time to strike.

He hefted his sword awkwardly. He had been considering taking sword-fighting lessons, for the weapon felt foreign to him. Its brute strength could never compare to the precision of a bow and arrow or the finesse of a blackjack. But it was all he had.

He crept into the clearing. As he reached the altar, he stopped and checked the kid. He was still alive. At that moment, Garrett froze with indecision. Should he save the kid or kill the sorceress? He couldn't be sure that he would kill her with the first strike of his unfaithful blade. If he gave her the chance, she'd kill him and the kid.

But he _really_ wanted revenge. She needed to pay for jerking him around.

He needed a plan that would give him the best of both worlds.

Finally knowing what to do, Garrett sheathed his sword and pulled out tools that were, to him, infinitely more valuable: his lockpicks. Working mostly by sound and touch, he learned the intricacies of the lock. Wincing at every sharp click of the inner mechanism, switching from one pick to another, glancing up every so often to check on the sorceress, he finally succeeded in freeing the kid.

He shouldered the kid silently and easily. It was time to go before the sorceress turned around and barbecued them. But there was one thing left to do. He placed his sword, perhaps not so useless after all, prominently on the altar. His final task done, Garrett carried his slight burden into the safety of the woods.

He observed his enemy finally finish her ridiculous ceremony. She dipped a knife in the basin and turned around. She finally noticed that the altar was devoid of a sacrifice. Dropping the knife, she ran to the offending stone table and picked up the sword. She knew who had foiled her plan.

"Garrett! I know you're out there! Show yourself!"

There was no response.

A small flame erupted from her hand. "Do I have to find you the hard way?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You of anyone should know how fast fire spreads. You'd be killing your fellow Mechanists."

The fact that he was right did not help her mood. She spun in a circle, trying to tell where the voice was coming from, but it was too low to pinpoint. "Coward!" she called, trying to provoke him. "Stop hiding!"

She received nothing but a quiet chuckle for her effort.

Enraged, she gestured violently with the sword. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

If she could have seen it, the smile on Garrett's face would have infuriated her. "Like I said, I'm not a murderer. I won't kill you. I'm just going to leave you here, in the center of Pagan territory. But don't worry. I have a feeling you won't be alone for long."

A prickle of fear ran through the sorceress. "You're bluffing!"

Garrett laughed and walked away. As he picked his way through a particularly tricky section of bushes, being careful not to drop the kid, he heard the all-too-familiar chilling laughter of the Pagans. It was coming from behind him, from the center of the forest. A moment later there was one long, high-pitched scream that trailed off into silence. 

Ah, revenge was sweet.


	7. Chapter 7

After leaving the sorceress to her demise, Garrett saw the green-eyed Pagan again. Just the green eyes, actually, glowing in the darkness. And it hadn't come alone. Garrett's senses informed him that he was surrounded on all sides by unseen creatures. He guessed they were angry with him for not killing the sorceress.

"You did not do as I asked, manfool," Green-eyes accused.

Was Garrett, the mighty King of the Night, going to let a mere Pagan push him around? He _might _have been a friend of Viktoria, but he didn't owe these people—these _things_—anything. The satisfactory ending to this adventure had given him a boost of confidence almost to the point of cockiness. "I don't remember taking orders from you."

"You will do so now. It would be in your interest to cooperate, likewise for the manchild you carry." Heavy rustling in the bushes gave emphasis to its statement.

Garrett became painfully aware of his utterly defenseless position. And he wasn't going to let something happen to the kid now, not after all the trouble he had gone through to rescue him. He would cooperate. For now. "What do you want?"

"Destroy the book."

"You mean the New Scripture of the Master Builder."

"Yes."

"Why can't one of you do it?"

"The metal woman's home is not friendly for us."

"Wait a minute. You're telling me the book is in her castle."

"Yes."

"That's impossible. I would have found it."

"You overestimate your abilities, manfool," the Pagan said, inadvertently echoing its dead nemesis. "Now that she is dead, she no longer has any power over the domain of the living."

It was talking nonsense, but Garrett had wanted to destroy the book anyway. If the Pagan was right…maybe he _had_ overlooked something.

"It is in both our interests, sneaksie manfool," the Pagan hissed vehemently. "Or have you forgotten who your real enemy is?"

A palpable silence followed.

"_If_ I find the book, I'll destroy it."

The green eyes danced. "Then leave. We would not want to detain you."

The eyes vanished. The rustling in the bushes faded away. Garrett and the kid were alone. 

The trip back to the apartment was quiet. The fire had died and so Garrett was forced to feel his way around, banging his toes several times until he could place the unconscious youth on his bed. He had no way of waking him, and he had other things to do besides baby-sit the little guy.

There was just one more loose end to tie up: the New Scripture. Once he had destroyed it, this would finally be over. And who knew, maybe the Mechanists would even leave him alone.

***

Garrett's third visit to the castle began with a cursory look around the perimeter for any secret underground chambers. As he had expected, he found none and so went inside. He wandered into the kitchen where a few short days ago a young servant met an ugly end.

Just when he thought he could no longer be shocked, another surprise was lying in wait for him. There was, across from the fireplace, a shiny steel door. It definitely had _not_ been there the other two times. He would have seen it.

His doubt caught hold of him. He didn't know what other powers the sorceress had possessed. It was quite possible that she could have created an illusion to mask the door. Now that she was dead and her command over the domain of the living had ended, the illusion was gone.

The door was unlocked. The sorceress had apparently felt that the illusion had been a sufficient deterrent.

A long, dark stairway led to a vault. There had been one all along. It too was unlocked. Garrett held his breath in anticipation of the riches awaiting him. Using all his strength he opened the heavy metal door.

The interior was dimly lit save for one ray of light extending from a hidden fixture in the ceiling. This single beacon of hope in the otherwise gloomy cell illuminated a solitary object resting on a pedestal: the New Scripture.

***

The thief's hard leather booths slapped sharply against the stone roof. His arms cradled a heavy manuscript, pressing it firmly against his chest. He knew exactly where he was going. He wanted the book destroyed. In order to do that, he needed to melt pure steel. The means to do this were in the factory district. The forges there burned at all hours of the day and night.

The thieves' highway gave him easy access to the factories. It was not unfamiliar territory to him but he wanted to finish quickly and the roof was the best way to do this. He let himself in through a ventilation shaft and found himself on a catwalk overlooking giant vats of molten metal. He leaned over the railing. Gusts of hot air hit his face. He lifted the ponderous volume and set it precariously on the railing.

For one quick moment his intense lust for money took control of him. He tightened his grip on the book as he imagined what the Mechanists would pay to get it back.

His better sense persevered, and he dumped the book without ceremony into the vat. With a thick splash it oozed into the bright orange liquid and was no more. His face basked in the warmth of the molten metal, Garrett watched with satisfaction as thick tendrils of silver infused the bubbling, lava-like substance. When the last glimmer of silver had disappeared he went back to his apartment.

Still, dark, and cool, his home gave him the closest thing to happiness that he could achieve. It was where he could escape the City's problems and not have to worry about burricks or apparitions or zombies. It was where he could be alone.

Except he wasn't alone. Chiding himself about the kid, Garrett stumbled around and bumped into various things before finding a lantern. With its pale orange light firmly in tow, he went into his bedroom.

The kid had not moved since Garrett's departure. His spindly legs and arms were strewn in awkward angles across the bed. His head had lolled to the side away from the door. The tattered rags that passed for clothes lay limp on the still chest.

Garrett went closer. He placed his hand on the boy's chest and could feel a chill but no heartbeat. He took the kid's chin in his hand and turned the face toward him. The eyes, rolled back in the head, were blank and glassy. The slightly parted lips had a bluish tinge. The clammy skin had faded to pure white.

And the face…the face was different. The harsh lantern light revealed the changes that had occurred. The bone structure, eye width, nose shape, nothing was the same. The resemblance he had seen to himself was gone. He felt dull, hollow. The kid had been another illusion.

***

He stood still and silent. His cloak flapped slowly in the wind. His hood and the darkness of night combined to mask his face. He stood at the edge of the slope leading down to the river. The current was slow, hindered by industrial waste and people's daily garbage. The river collected trash of all kinds—including bodies. And so it had become the kid's final resting-place. Garrett had wrapped the bony frame in a blanket. The misshapen bundle had tumbled down the bank and into the murky water, where it currently bobbed up and down as it meandered away.

He knew now that the kid had been just another of Markham's pawns, used for her own ends and then discarded without so much as an afterthought. The physical resemblance had faded but the impoverished state had remained. The kid had had no family and no way to support himself. Even Garrett with his blazing skills had barely been able to survive. The kid had had no chance. And if Garrett hadn't been born with his unmatched talents, he would have ended up the same way. It could have been him. Bile rose in his throat but he forced it back down.

The kid's mummy-like form finally disappeared from his sight. The body would have provided nourishment for fish if any had survived the years of heavy pollution.

A chill ran down his spine. His sixth sense had detected a Keeper. "What do you want," he said quietly.

"I would like you to come with me," the Keeper said in the same mild tone.

Garrett kept his eyes trained on the river. "When will you leave me alone." His voice lacked inflection.

The Keeper's words came slowly, as if the mere task of speaking was a heavy burden. "All is not as it was written. The balance is in greater danger than ever." He hesitated. "We…need your help."

Garrett felt a twinge in his heart. He hadn't even been able to save the kid. How could he help his old mentors?

The Keeper's next word was so soft that only someone with a Keeper's senses could have heard it. "Please."

It broke Garrett out of his daze. A Keeper, practically groveling for help, for _his_ help. It was unheard of. And he couldn't help but like it. Their holier-than-thou attitude had annoyed him to no end. The mighty had indeed fallen. He wondered what on Earth could have shaken them so. "All right," he said. How could have he refused?

The End


End file.
